There have been of late quite a few beautiful mornings for walking here in central Minnesota. The rains spend themselves during the night and it is relatively cool-ish in those hours before the midday heat cranks up. The pavement, however, holds its warmth in reserve, reminding us early bird types that yes, it is summertime.
So when I found myself caught up amid a mighty swirl of cottonwood seeds relinquishing their earthbound ways and falling upward toward the heavens, I had to admit that the cause of their lovely ascension was probably just the conspiracy of ante meridiem breezes and convection currents off the hot blacktop. Simple physics at work and nothing more.
But that’s not how it felt. It felt like aspiration, like hopefulness, like intention, like joy. In that moment, the tiny future trees appeared much more feather than flora, more light than substance. It was of course not the seeds themselves but the open space within them that let the breeze, the breath, the divine ruah fill their “emptiness” and lift them toward where they knew not. The sight was all the more affecting because it was not a single seed alone on the voyage but a whole throng of them together.
They fly better once they abandon their pods.
(There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.)
Draw Us Closer[ii]
Draw us closer, closer, closer to You
Draw us closer, closer, closer to You
We walk upon this world
So beautiful and terrifying
Clinging to this sweet, sweet life
Living in this dying
We are gathered at this stone
On this day
On this day
Let the gates of heaven be opened
The walls of heaven fall away
Oh be no more divided
From the longing of our hearts
Let this world lie gently
In your arms
In your arms
Draw us closer, closer, closer to You
Draw us closer, closer, closer to You
We journey through this life
Mysterious and unforgiving
We are bound to this hard, hard earth
Dying in this living
Shed our tears upon this stone
On this day
On this day
Let the gates of heaven be opened
The walls of heaven fall away
O be no more divided
From the longing of our hearts
Let this world lie gently
In your arms
In your arms
Draw us closer, closer, closer to You
Draw us closer, closer, closer to You
Every turn I made that morning was greeted by another song perfect for the moment. Nature itself seemed to be in the groove, too. The aspens in the park were practically dancing their branches off for happy to some melody beyond my hearing. Seriously. Here’s a picture to prove it:
I have a hunch they were jammin’ to Charles Wesley
because their leaves looked an awful lot like
a thousand tongues joined in chorus.
In the Methodist Hymnal with which I grew up, this hymn was number 1. For me it still is.
After passing by the trees—having thanked them for the show—I rounded a bend on the path where an old foot bridge spans a backwater.
Picturesque, isn’t it?
Something about that bridge always stirs up images in my head of old, old places long gone but substantial in their time. The vision is complete with horses pulling wagons, their hooves clattering on the boards, a dusty little village as their destination or maybe even a nice stodgy castle.
And then this tune started up on the iPod:
We Give Ourselves Away[iii]
We are likely to be lost
And I guess we even know it
And it passes understanding
That we are reckless in this way
And it does not help to know
All the ways we could avoid it
It is a calling of the heart
To give ourselves away
It is a calling of the heart
The terms of our surrender
Come out into the open
Even though we are afraid
We have everything to lose
That we have carefully collected
We lay our armor down
And we give ourselves away
Oh me
Oh no, not me
Give myself up to mercy
Can it be
Oh how can it be
In that moment
Will I find the courage
To give myself away
What are we gonna do
How will we survive
Standing on the ramparts
In careless disarray
Having chosen to be lost
Abandoning our shelter
It is a calling of the heart
To give ourselves away
It is a calling of the heart
The terms of our surrender
Come out into the open
Even though we are afraid
We have everything to lose
That we have carefully protected
We lay our armor down
And we give ourselves away
But we do not count the cost
We just give ourselves away
You might be wondering by now what any of this reverie has to do with the Rule of Saint Benedict which is, after all, the purported topic of the blog. It’s just this:
Benedict begins his Rule with an exhortation to follow the path of righteousness[iv] in order that that we might come to know our Lord’s outrageous love (RB Prol 49-50) and he ends the Rule on that same note (72.11-12; 73.8). It is a literary device that scholars call inclusio—bookends that set the theme, fleshing it out with everything that comes in between. He is not calling us to be (simply) paragons of virtue, but great and selfless lovers. He urges us to abandon the false shelter of our own ego constructs and come out into the open where there is love without walls, nothing to hide behind and no shelter but the shelter of God’s wings.
Benedict makes his plea by demanding ready service of the Christ in others. He is relentless in his call to forgiveness. He brooks no limitations on obedience or humility. All of this because he well understood that it is entirely possible to live walled off from others, even if there are no physical barriers that separate us.
It is vitally important that those of us who live in dispersed community understand this message. We are often tempted to think that it would be oh-so-much easier to be a Benedictine if we only lived together in a cloister.[v] Yes, there are advantages to rubbing elbows (and egos) on a daily basis—such as the encouragement found in a shared goal and the constant reminders of our commitment—but buildings have never been the sine qua non of being a “real” monk. The rampart on which we stand is Christ and Christ alone.
We are in this together, my dear sisters and brothers, and it is together that our Lord wants bring us to everlasting life (72.12). Therefore let us avail ourselves of every instrument in the monastic toolbox[vi] that we can possibly use to pry, carve, chisel, dissolve or hammer out open spaces within us so that God may fill us with the wind of the Spirit and lift us all closer to Christ.
[i] Serendipity: 1754 (but rare before 20c.), coined by Horace Walpole (1717-92) in a letter to Mann (dated Jan. 28); he said he formed it from the Persian fairy tale "The Three Princes of Serendip," whose heroes "were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of." The name is from Serendip, an old name for Ceylon (modern Sri Lanka), from Arabic Sarandib, from Skt. Simhaladvipa "Dwelling-Place-of-Lions Island." Serendipitous formed c.1950. [Dictionary.com citing the Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper]
[ii] http://songchapel.com/home.html. I don’t know where Gary puts the punctuation, so I left it out. I like the ambiguity that this absence leaves in its wake, though: Is it the world that is “so beautiful and terrifying” or is it us? Is it this life that is “mysterious and unforgiving” or is it us again?
[iii] From Garrison Doles, Whenever I’m With You. It was a Gary kind of day.
[iv] Note: There is no “works righteousness” in the Benedictine life. This point isn’t necessarily obvious when we think of monastic discipline and all of the rules within the Rule. The purpose of Saint Benedict’s framework—and it is only a framework and never a goal or an end in itself—is not to force our weak spines into a morally upright posture. It is a fine thing if we do become better behaved along the way; the triumph, however, is not in our goodness but in God’s grace. I recently heard a preacher make a similar point from a slightly different angle: “Jesus did not come to make bad people good; he came to make dead people alive.” (Crawford Loritts)
[v] It’s the same deal as thinking that our faith would be stronger if only we had known Jesus in person and walked with him along the shores of Galilee. Remember Peter for a reality check on that little illusion (Matt 26:69-75).
Yes, God tries to make dead people alive!!!!!!!!!! Your songs are so wonderful that you share with us. I would love to listen to more songs. I was right there with you on your walk...Thank You very much.
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